


Changing Hands

by orphan_account



Series: Puppendoktor [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Eating Disorders, Emetophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris' new owner is not what he expected.</p><p>(Living Doll from Fenris' POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of thanks to everyone who kept commenting and asking about this and motivating me to get it done <333
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with it and will most likely rework some parts, but it'll do for now

“… glad you’re interested,” Fenris heard his owner’s voice as the door opened. “My brother got it Maker knows where while the wife and I were visiting her parents up in Starkhaven. We come back, and the thing is kneeling in the corner of the room with a candle shoved down its throat. Was funny for about a minute, but you try and sell something like that.” He and a large, bearded human entered Fenris’ field of vision. 

“It does have some decorative merit,” the man mused while he pinched, prodded, and probed his body. His owner snorted, grabbing one of his ears and twisting it, making Fenris inwardly scream at the agonising pain.

“If your friend is into knife-ears?”

The man shrugged.

“He's not too picky. How much do you want?”

“Three sovereigns.”

“Bit steep. I could probably buy the entire Rose for five, but all right.”

Fenris heard coins clink; then he was unceremoniously wrapped in rough sackcloth and thrown over a broad shoulder.

The trip was relatively short, but the air around them was getting noticeably warmer and stuffier, until the man who had bought him suddenly called out, “Oh Anders! I have a present for you!”

Fenris was slammed onto a hard surface, his head ringing, and someone carefully peeled the sackcloth away. Another human’s drawn and tired face looked down at him. His eyes widened in horrified realisation and he stared at the bearded man, who smirked.

“You don’t like it? And when I’ve gone to such trouble. After all, _you_ are the one who told me you were _so lonely._ ” He stroked the other man’s, Anders’, cheek and laughed when he pulled away and looked ready to cry. “Do enjoy yourself a little,” he said and left. Anders stared after him for a moment before he seemed to collect himself. His lips thinned, and he angrily wiped his eyes. He shuddered in disgust as he looked at Fenris before trying and failing to lift him up. Eventually, he grabbed him under his arms and dragged him off the table and into a small bedroom. There, he pottered about for a bit, occasionally dragging Fenris a little this way and that before faltering, until he finally sighed and pushed him under the bed. 

Fenris stared up at the bedstead above him with burning eyes and dust tickling his nose and listened as Anders went to bed. Being down here was not too bad. Perhaps Anders would simply forget about him.

The next days were the most comfortable Fenris could remember having in a long time. Anders ignored him completely, apart from tripping over his feet that apparently stuck out from under the bed a few times. The occasional sobs and cries of pain he heard during the day were disconcerting at first, but he soon figured out that the large room outside was some kind of clinic. He thought of the clinics he had visited with Danarius when his Master had fallen ill and wondered if Anders was a better healer than the ones in Tevinter.

At night, Anders sat down at his desk and wrote. Fenris could hear him scribbling furiously, muttering to himself, and reading sentences out loud to rephrase them. The subject of his writings seemed to be the situation of mages in the South, and Fenris listened interestedly. None of his owners since he had left the Imperium had been mages, and Danarius had only ever referred to them as ‘poor, pathetic fools’; if half of what he heard Anders say was true, he could see why.

His heart sank when the pleasant routine was disturbed a few days later by soft footfalls following Anders' into the room, a whistle, and a woman’s voice saying, “I thought he was taking the piss, but… obviously not. I’m sorry, Sparkles.”

“What?” asked Anders, followed by a groan. “He’s bragging about it then?”

The woman sighed.

“Well, this is partially my fault… Not like you think. I just told Hawke about a friend of mine who in turn had another friend who was said to own an incredibly realistic doll. We just had a little chuckle about the whole idea, but I never thought he’d… Hightown is just not good for the guy.”

“Can say that again,” Anders muttered.

“Don’t take it so hard, sweet thing. You deserve a lot better.” The woman’s voice abruptly changed from soothing to chipper. “Well, let’s see the little gem then.”

“No, absolutely not,” Anders protested. “It’s staying down there until I’ve figured out where to put it. Or, I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that yet, maybe I should just set the blighted thing on fire.” 

A jolt went through Fenris, and he barely noticed the hand tugging on his leg. The thought of burning to death in his mute, immobile state should have horrified him, but all he could see was a way out finally within reach. His only other chance was Hadriana, and he had long since started doubting that she was still alive.

Anders’ hands took hold of him and pulled him out from under the bed. He appeared more awake today than the first time Fenris had seen him, but still looked at him with the same air of distaste. The woman, on the other hand, looked delighted; her eyes sparkled as she ran a warm, calloused hand over his chest.

“Oh, but that is a work of art. Just look at that… everything. Did you even spare the pretty boy one glance before stashing him away?”

Anders glared at her.

“Bela, it’s a creepy elven fetish doll; I really don’t need to see more.”

She gasped.

“You didn’t even peek?”

Her fingers fluttered over his crotch and hooked into the waistband of his pants, but Anders pulled her hand back.

“Stop that. The thing is gross enough without you getting all hot and bothered. Just…”

She stood up with a chuckle, and as she was leaving, Fenris heard her say, “Fine, fine, I’m going. But promise to tell me how it feels if you do end up getting curious.”

When Anders returned, he prepared himself for agony. He had no idea if fire could harm him as no one had tried to burn him so far, but there was always a chance.

Instead of throwing a fireball at him or shoving him back under the bed, however, Anders merely looked at him with an odd expression. Fenris silently cursed Bela. He didn’t want his reprieve to be over; but perhaps she had made Anders rethink his opinion, made him decide that a disgusting doll was better than nothing.

Clothes were the last thing he had expected, and he could have wept at the sensation of cool fabric covering his aching skin. He was  _covered_  and sat in a chair like a free man. If this was Anders' plan for him, he hoped it would take him a good long while to find someone to take Fenris off his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

To Fenris’ surprise and confusion, Anders really did move him from chair to bed and back every day, as he had promised. He would not have questioned his reasons even if he had been able to; he simply enjoyed the way Anders carefully arranged him in the chair and how gently he tucked him into bed. Since Fenris didn’t live under the bed anymore, Anders had also taken to chatting with him about his day, his work, his friends; and if Fenris could have found a way to let him know that his ‘creepy eyes’ could be closed and that Anders was very, very welcome to do so, his bliss would have been complete.

He was startled when one night, after a day at the clinic that had been filled with the crying and coughing of patients, Anders groaned and crawled under the blanket with him, mumbling, “You don’t mind, do you,” before falling asleep.

When it happened again the following night and still Anders did nothing but sleep, Fenris found he didn’t mind at all. He had no memory of anyone ever snuggling up to him in their sleep the way Anders did - the idea of Danarius doing it was downright laughable - and he quite liked the experience, only wondering what it would feel like to reciprocate.

He was almost ashamed of how eagerly he was waiting for Anders to get into bed when he returned late from a get-together with his friends one night.

“Evening,” Anders muttered after lying down with a frustrated groan. “Had a quiet one, did you? Wish I could’ve. You know Bela said Hawke’s bout of Hightown Euphoria was more or less over and he was almost back to normal? He really is behaving marginally less appallingly, but apparently I’m still not forgiven for… oh, I don’t even know. Saying I liked him after he had flirted with me for ages, I guess. Tonight he said he was glad I’d managed to pull my dick out of… well, you for one night. Sorry, you know I wouldn’t… do that.” 

Yet again he wondered why Anders continued to humour Hawke after everything when they were both free men, and Anders was even a mage. But then, he reminded himself, this was not the Imperium. As he pondered, he saw Anders touch one hand to his forehead from the corner of his eye; and from the spot where Anders’ forearm brushed against his, white-hot pain seared through his brands. He heard Anders scream; and he could _move_ , he could _breathe_ , he could _blink._ Tremors ran through his body, and he stifled a moan of both pain and relief at the feeling of his erection subsiding. He tried to stand up, his bones and muscles protesting the sudden strain, and he stumbled and crawled over to the wall, leaning against it and hugging his knees to his chest. His eyes darted over to Anders, and he was relieved to see his chest rising and falling steadily. He tried to think past the twitching and trembling of his muscles, tried to focus on how to wake Anders up, but the man's eyelids were already fluttering open. He looked at the other side of the bed in confusion; then his expression turned to pure shock when his gaze fell on Fenris.

“Ah.” Anders sat up slowly. “Are you okay?”

He could _speak_ , he _should_  speak, tell Anders he was fine. He opened his mouth, and before he knew it, he was on his hands and knees and vomiting violently. He felt the warmth of Anders’ hand not quite touch his shoulder for a second; then Anders' familiar scratchy blanket was draped over him. He clutched it like a lifeline and huddled back into his corner once he had recovered. He watched worriedly as Anders cleaned up his mess without comment, looking pale and queasy himself when he sat down in front of Fenris.

After a long moment of silence, he said, “My name is Anders.”

Fenris nodded, unsure if he should tell Anders that he knew. When he said nothing, Anders continued.

“What’s your name?”

He frowned.

“Fenris.” Even before he had lost his ability to speak, it had been a long time since he had said his own name, and it sounded as alien as it felt on his tongue.

“Hi Fenris,” said Anders gently, and Fenris felt a stab of shame at the pity in his eyes. He struggled to his feet, stubbornly ignoring the pain in his weak legs, and finally took in the room where he had spent the past weeks in its entirety.

“We’re in Kirkwall, in Darktown,“ Anders informed him. Fenris nodded his understanding. Kirkwall. He remembered Kirkwall.

Without warning, his stomach cramped again, and he pressed a hand to his middle with a helpless look at Anders. The healer reacted quickly, grasping his arm and leading him to a curtained off part of the small living area.

“Can you manage?” he asked uncertainly, and Fenris nodded, waiting until Anders had left before relieving himself and subsequently throwing up again. Once he felt blessedly empty, he went back into the main room to see Anders setting up a cot opposite his own bed.

"You can sleep in the bed if-”

He shook his head and crawled onto the cot, closing his eyes. What he really would have wanted was to sleep in the bed with Anders again, to be held until all the pain and nausea was gone; but he understood that it would not happen.

After a moment, he heard Anders whisper "Good night," and slip into his own bed.

 

Fenris’ awakening was sudden and startling, by virtue alone of it being the first time in years for him to awaken at all. He took a moment to just feel the breath flow in and out of him, feel the minute twitches and tremors of muscles, to wiggle his toes and fingers, to close his eyes for another minute and open them again slowly. It was strange, he mused, for his body to feel so normal. There was only the slightest lingering soreness permeating everything, a stiffness that felt as if it had been brought on by a night of sleeping uncomfortably rather than by living a nightmare for several years. A nightmare that was _over_ now.

For the first time since his reanimation, he considered what this meant for him. He was, for all intents and purposes,  _free_  at the moment. Refusing to be intimidated by the thought, he tried to think of what to do. He needed to know with certainty whether Hadriana was alive or not; and until he could find a way of doing this, he had to keep word of his return to the living from spreading to Tevinter.

He looked over at Anders, who was still sleeping as fitfully as ever. He probably had contacts in the city who would be able to help, but was it wise to involve him? Even though he he had treated Fenris with kindness so far, a mage as powerful as him could build a solid existence in Tevinter with the right leverage; and Fenris would be perfectly suited for that.

When Anders' eyes opened, they were immediately averted, and the trend continued throughout the day. With his patients, he was warm and gentle, commanding when he needed to be, but always confident. Fenris, on the other hand, evoked fleeting, concerned glances and studied avoidance. He did not care either way; he simply busied himself with small tasks in the clinic in an attempt to get his body accustomed to the activity. He kept out of the patients' way as much as he could, away from talk and touch, and merely listened. 

He looked up when he heard Anders speak to a boy. "You see the elf over there? Andrej is a little taller than him, isn't he? If you could spare a few clothes in his size, or if I could even borrow something for a little while, I'd be grateful." He grinned then. "It might be a chance for you to sneak that one brown tunic out of the house before it's upon you to wear it." The boy snickered and said it would be no problem before hurrying out. 

Fenris was unsure what to make of Anders' behaviour, the obvious discomfort on one side and the concern on the other. He stared at the bread basket, shaking his head. He was hungry, but the thought of eating made him nauseous. Hungry was better than sick.

“You’ve got to eat, Fenris. Unless you really are an animated doll; then I suppose…”

“I am not a doll.” A reminder for himself just as much. All deliberate movement still felt slightly stiff and foreign; the occasional uncontrolled spasms of muscles were unnerving; it was not difficult to believe he had never been real.

“Oh. Good.” Anders frowned, looking deep in thought. "So I… accidentally healed you? That’s all it took?"

Fenris could have scoffed, but merely nodded. That was all. Just a little bit of a staggering amount of power that the healer didn't even seem to realise he had.

“Your arm was touching mine when you healed yourself. The lyrium reacted… in unexpected ways,” he explained, feeling foolish. Anders was easily as powerful as Danarius had been; he shouldn't need a slave to explain anything.

Anders looked confused, then thunderstruck. "Those are..." 

Fenris' throat closed up. He suppressed the instinct to defend and anxiously watched the mage's eyes flit across his skin, along the lines of the visible brands, and waited to see greed appear in them, the realisation of what he had in his possession.

Anders dropped his gaze and hunched in on himself. "Sorry, I just didn't realise," he said quietly.

Fenris gritted his teeth. Part of him longed to trust Anders, to explain everything and ask for his help; but consistency and honesty were not the same thing. He would keep watching and waiting.

The work around the clinic kept him busy while he did so during the following days, and the strain of long forgotten physical activity brought back the comfortably familiar burn in his muscles that masked all the other aches. When the hunger became painful on its own, he finally gave in, although Anders was more hindrance than help in that regard. Fenris knew he meant well, but he wished the man would stop pestering him with soup and gruel and all kinds of mushy 'easily digestible' food when it was hardly difficult to miss that Fenris' problem was not digesting the food, but getting it to his stomach in the first place without gagging at the sensation of it sliding down his throat. But since he had no desire to explain this matter, he simply bore Anders' concerned and disapproving stare while he choked down barely chewed bites of stale bread. 


	3. Chapter 3

A quiet clink of metal made Fenris look up and tense. Hawke was leering at him from the clinic entrance; next to him a beardless dwarf, who studied him curiously.

“Well, this is a whole new level of sad. No offence, Anders." Hawke stepped closer to Fenris and squinted at him. "You’re actually pathetic enough to bring a fuckdoll to life, aren’t you? Amazing.”

Fenris pressed his lips together and tried to ignore the anger and disgust welling up at the epithet.

Anders, no doubt in an attempt to do damage control, hurried to explain, “Hawke. Varric. This is Fenris. Who is not a… doll.”

The dwarf's name made Fenris pause. From what he had heard of Anders' stories, the man had eyes and ears all over the city and beyond; he would almost certainly be able to find out what Fenris needed.

He barely took notice of Hawke's comment and interrupted Anders' appalled exclamation. "I would have a word with the dwarf." 

Booted steps followed him as he walked to Anders' room in the back, and he turned to face Varric.

"What can I do for you, elf?" the dwarf asked with an air of bemused interest.

"There is a mansion in the Hightown part of the city," he began without preamble. "When you... turn left at the Chantry building, up the steps... and again to your left, in the corner."

"I think I know which one you mean. Abandoned, rat-infested hole?"

Fenris blinked. "It... is it? I... have not been there in a long time. Are you sure it is abandoned?"

"There certainly hasn't been anyone living there," Varric said with a shrug. "But if you're talking legal owner, I can find out for you."

Trying to suppress the involuntary hopeful perking of his ears, Fenris replied as calmly as possible, "I would appreciate that. Only... I am not sure if I could pay you right away."

Varric looked at him with sharp eyes. "How about this; you pay me if you can. If you can't, I'll do it as a favour for Blondie. Probably best to resolve your whole... situation before you can bring trouble to his doorstep, and if this helps..."

"I understand," said Fenris quickly. "It will help, either way. Thank you."

With a nod, Varric led the way back to the clinic room.

"Fenris, can I leave you alone for a few hours?" Anders asked, still looking concerned when Fenris nodded; but he turned to leave regardless. "Alright, then I’ll… see you later."

Fenris got to work folding the sheets they had washed two days earlier and hung up to dry. He was not worried. Most patients gave him a wide berth, and anyone not currently dying would likely waste no time in walking back out upon seeing that Fenris was alone. The ones that were dying, he would simply have to see what he could do.

The following hours were predictably quiet. He finished folding the sheets, swept the floor, and began to scrub that one table encrusted with old blood, which Anders had obviously given up on trying to clean. The sight of it made Fenris skin crawl, however, so he made an effort, scowling when his arms grew tired much earlier than they should have.

A handful of people had already walked in and left again with awkward goodbyes when they saw Anders was out, but the elderly lady who had just entered held the small girl clutching her hand back when she attempted to drag her back out with a fearful glance at Fenris.

"You said I had to have it looked at, Nela," she said firmly.

The girl shook her head. "But Anders isn't here, Nan. There's only  _him_ ," she whispered.

"The healer should be back soon. Can I help you in the meantime, serah?" Fenris motioned to a cot, and the woman sat down with a grateful smile, Nela clambering onto her lap.

She held up her hand. "It's nothing worse than a sprain, if that. Most of what brings us here is Nela's infatuation with Anders." She poked the girl, who giggled and then resumed her mistrustful glaring at Fenris. He did his best to ignore it as he hesitantly grasped the old woman's hand. It was bruised and slightly swollen, but the skin was intact and no bones seemed to be broken.

He went over to the shelf holding Anders' collection of potions and poultices. After sniffing a few pots, he found a salve that smelled like one he had been given for similar injuries before and carefully applied it.

"Thank you so much, dear. It feels better already." She gave him a kind smile, which he answered with a nod.

He covered the bruise, and just as he was wrapping a bandage around her hand, Anders returned.

"Nela, Tilda. Are you alright?"

Nela's whole face lit up at the sight of Anders, and she blurted out, "Nan fell and hurt her hand, but the scary elf fixed it." Fenris clenched his jaw when he felt his ears threaten to droop. He would not be embarrassed; it was not as if she had pretended to think differently of him at any point since coming in.

"Nela!" Tilda hissed and looked apologetically at Fenris when he quickly tied off the bandage and stood up, letting go of her hand. "Thank you, love. Your help was very appreciated."

"You are welcome," he replied and turned to head to the safety of the back room. "Perhaps let the healer have a look if he feels up to it, to make sure it is nothing serious after all." Leaning against the wall and taking a deep breath once he was out of sight, he listened to their conversation. An uncomfortable lump formed in his throat when Anders called him his friend, and he abruptly pushed himself off the wall and crawled onto his cot. He was nothing of the sort. He was just a scary elf that Anders had got saddled with and that now hung around to bring trouble to his doorstep. Before he could lose himself in bitter thoughts, Anders entered the room, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Thank you for taking care of things while I was out. Also thanks from Tilda; and sorry from Nela."

Fenris nodded without looking up, but his nerves felt less frayed. Although Anders currently seemed even more uncomfortable in his presence than usual if it was possible, his tone was as gentle as always.

He heard him sigh. "Night, Fenris."

"Good night, Anders," he answered quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

Fenris shot up at the sound of wood splintering and heavy footsteps approaching. He crouched on his cot while Anders struggled to his feet and clutched his staff, only looking half awake.

"Apostate!" The roar was followed by four templars bursting into the room, and Fenris saw Anders' body stiffen and his eyes grow wide with fear. Hoping to reassure him, he came to stand beside him, letting their arms brush against each other for a moment, but Anders only looked more frightened.

"You know how much work it is to keep those rats living down here from warning their beloved sewer mage that he’s about to get a visit?" one of the templars asked, taking a step towards them. "But I’m inclined to say it was worth it now that we’re not just getting you but your little boyfriend as well. Don’t you think?"

Time seemed to slow down as the man's sword hilt moved towards Anders' head. With practised ease, Fenris ducked beneath it, and pain raced through his body as he lit his brands. Eliciting a choked gurgle from his victim, he buried his hand in his chest and wrapped his fingers around his heart, twisting and squeezing until the man dropped.

Both Anders and the templars stood rooted to the spot and stared at him, but all of the previous days' uncertainty was blown away by the rush of adrenaline and the momentary feeling of being  _himself_ again - the fact that it took violence and carnage for it to happen notwithstanding.

He bared his teeth in a feral grin, and the templars attacked.

Then stopped.

Before Fenris' disbelieving eyes, Anders' skin cracked like dry soil, the blue glow of the fade breaking through. " **You will not have him!** "

The being that had been Anders turned its wrath on the templars, obliterating two with barely more than a thought. The third attacked from the side, focussed entirely on this new threat. Fenris took his chance and pounced, snapping the templar's neck with one quick jerk.

Iridescent blue eyes lit on him when the man's sword clattered to the floor, and Fenris let go of the body.

" **We are grateful for your help.** "

He nodded, unsure how to act around this oddly polite thing that did not quite look like an abomination but had to be one. Had Anders been possessed all this time?

"Is Anders still...?" he asked hesitantly.

" **We are one.** " With those words, the cracks in Anders' skin disappeared, all the light seemingly pulled inside his lanky body until honey brown eyes blinked at Fenris.

It was a strange sight. Fenris had witnessed his fair share of mages succumb to demonic possession, and it did not usually simply end with the demon ceding control to their host again. But he would leave any such questions for a later time.

"We have to leave," he said when he was sure Anders was himself again. With a nod, Anders gathered the most important of his possessions and walked with him outside where he stopped and looked at Fenris, still seeming somewhat lost and confused.

"Where does the dwarf live?" Fenris prompted as gently as he could. Anders obediently led the way through Darktown and appeared to come back to his senses as he began sneaking glances at Fenris.

Eventually the dam burst. "You can crush people’s hearts in their chests."

"You are possessed," Fenris pointed out, thinking the horrified tone was just slightly hypocritical.

"Right. Sorry," Anders whispered with a wince and fell silent. They went up to Lowtown and walked the winding streets, which were thankfully quiet for the moment. Now that the high from the fight had worn off completely, exhaustion was setting in. Fenris wanted to hide somewhere and sleep, and wake up with all of today's too many emotions gone.

He followed Anders into a dingy tavern and up the stairs inside. Varric looked tired when he opened the door a short while after Anders had knocked, but his eyes widened when he took in the state of them.

"Do you have it?" he asked quickly and hid his blood-caked hand behind his back, not wanting to encourage questions.

Varric nodded. "Sure, elf. Easy as." He took a document off the stack on his table and handed it to Fenris.

He stared at it, silently adding frustration to the shame, anger, confusion, and trepidation already gnawing at his core. "What does it say?" he asked.

"Ah. It's abandoned."

"The owner?" he prompted, trying not to let his impatience show.

"Previous owner was a Tevinter woman named Hadriana," Varric provided. "Deceased. No will or relatives if I were to guess because there’s no record of a current owner."

Fenris allowed himself the small moment of satisfaction that hearing about Hadriana's death brought but squashed the trepidation that threatened to peak again. If the house had no current owner, in all likelihood neither had he. The dwarf's words earlier had already told him what had happened to the house without an owner; again raising the question what would happen to him.

Putting those thoughts aside for the time being, he turned his attention back to Varric. "Thank you for your assistance. I will be back during the day with what I owe you."

Varric waved him off. "You do that, elf. Now take Blondie and let me sleep."

Fenris obeyed promptly and, once outside, turned to where he assumed the way to Hightown had to be.

"Where are we going?" Anders asked after trailing behind half the way up the steps.

"Just come," Fenris replied shortly. The words 'no current owner' kept running through his mind, and still he shied away from pondering in depth what it meant for him. He quickened his pace when he spotted the entrance to the mansion in the secluded corner. The door was easily unlocked, and he took a deep breath inside before heading through the entrance hall and up the stairs.

The mansion could not have changed more since he had last seen it; but as he took in all the damage around him, he thought wryly that it looked rather like he felt.

With a tired sigh, he stretched out on the bed that felt just like he remembered. He hugged himself and looked up at the sky through the damaged roof. Was he free now? Was being forgotten the same as being freed? And again, what was he supposed to do?

Anders' steps came to a halt at the doorstep.

Not daring to look, he patted the other side of the bed in invitation, surprised when Anders complied immediately. His warmth was familiar and comforting; and Fenris found himself relaxing slightly.

He was grateful that Anders seemed willing to hold his questions back a while longer, but a large part of the reason was perhaps his palpable unease in the unfamiliar surroundings. Technically Anders was his guest at the moment, Fenris realised, and it was probably on him to make him comfortable.

"The house has a wine cellar," he offered for want of other options.

Anders turned to him, a frown on his face. "Ah… I obviously can’t tell you what to do, but speaking as a healer, I’m not so sure wine is a good idea for someone who can barely keep down dry bread."

Fenris had to remind himself that Anders probably still had little more than a vague idea of what was happening, but he couldn't suppress a slight smile. "I meant if you wanted some."

Understanding dawned, along with a hint of embarrassment. "Thank you, but… Justice doesn’t like me drinking."

"Justice is your demon?" Fenris ventured, causing Anders to grimace.

"Yes, he doesn’t like that either. He’s a spirit."

Fenris was not too sure about the distinction, so he merely said, "I see."

"You are remarkably calm about this," Anders pressed after a minute of silence.

Was he? Yes, one of the reasons for his silence was that he had no desire to offend the demon or spirit; but that said, he wasn't sure if it even mattered. Anders had never minced words about his distaste for Fenris, the doll; but at the same time he had never acted cruelly. Rather the opposite, in fact. He thought of the vile things he had been subjected to over the years, and of what he had expected from Anders at first.

"After the past years… a single abomination, who does not even have the heart to destroy a lifeless doll that he hates, seems… trivial," he finally said and flinched when Anders turned suddenly towards him. He stared at the arm hovering over his chest and up at Anders, who was looking at him like a spooked nug.

But he was... offering. If he was offering, there was no reason for Fenris not to accept.

Before he could think better of it, he wrapped his arms around Anders. It felt just as good as he had imagined, despite the bulky coat preventing him from really feeling Anders' body. The gentle hands on his back and in his hair more than made up for it; and with a happy sigh, Fenris buried his face against Anders' chest, breathing in his scent until sleep claimed him.

**Author's Note:**

> I will continue this as I do want them to actually talk to each other and that, just be prepared to wait for a while because I'm slow and have no plans beyond the obvious (punch hawke, snuggle some more)
> 
> Also someone keep me from ever doing this from-both-perspectives lark again it was awful and is not a good but it was a bit late to abandon it and oh well


End file.
